Over the weekend I attended a music festival. I really enjoyed the music, but I think the average and generally ageing folkie has a very strong puritan, or maybe Presbyterian streak that dictates hardship must be endured in return for the enjoyment of such pleasures.
The festival was held in the wilds of outer Wainuiomata, in a Spartan scout camp in a remote corner of a valley, and true to form at one stage the rain on the iron roof of the hall drowned out the music!
Having said all that, and despite the cold and the mud, the warmth and enthusiasm of seeing old friends, and the general joie de vivre of the music made a little hardship worthwhile. But I was glad to climb back into our transport along with a few other less than intrepid souls and return to my warm apartment after the afternoon’s entertainment.
My favourite song, or at least the one that made me laugh the most, went by the glorious title of In Praise of the Colorectal Surgeon!
